Early the next morning, Percival turned out long before there were any sounds from the galley or dining-room. The sun had not yet cleared the tree-tops to the east; the decks of the Doraine were still wet with dew. A few sailors were abroad; a dull-eyed junior officer moodily picked his way through the debris on the forward deck. Birds were singing and chattering in the trees that lined the shore; down at the water's edge, like sentinels on duty, with an eye always upon the strange, gigantic intruder, strutted a number of stately, bright-plumaged birds of the flamingo variety—(doubtless they were flamingoes); the blue surface of the basin was sprinkled with the myriad white, gleaming backs of winged fishermen, diving, flapping, swirling; on high, far above the hills, soared two or three huge birds with wings outspread and rigid, monarchs of all that they surveyed. The stowaway leaned on the port rail and fixed his gaze upon the crest of the severed hill, apparently the tallest of the half dozen or so that were visible from his position.

With powerful glasses he studied the wooded slope. This hill was probably twelve or fourteen hundred feet high. He thought of it as a hill, for he had lived long in the heart of the towering Andes. Behind him lay the belt of woodland that separated the basin from the open sea, a scant league away. The cleft through the hill lay almost directly ahead. It's walls apparently were perpendicular; a hundred feet or less from the pinnacle, the opening spread out considerably, indicating landslides at some remote period, the natural sloughing off of earth and stone in the formation of this narrow, unnatural passage through the very centre of the little mountain. For at least a thousand feet, however, the sides of the passage rose as straight as a wall. That the mountain was of solid rock could not be doubted after a single glance at those sturdy, unflinching walls, black and sheer.

“Well, what do you make of it?” inquired a voice at his elbow. He turned to find Mr. Mott standing beside him.

“Earthquake,” he replied. “Thousands of years ago, of course. Split the island completely in two.”

“Sounds plausible,” mused the First Officer. “But if that is the case, how do you account for the shallowness of the water in the passage and out here in the basin? An earthquake violent enough to split that hill would make a crack in the earth a thousand fathoms deep.”

“I have an idea that if we took soundings in this basin we'd find a section twenty or thirty feet wide in the centre of it where we couldn't touch bottom. The same would be true of the passage if we plumbed the middle. When we came through it the ship scraped bottom time and again. As a matter of fact,—the way I figure it out,—she was simply bumping against the upper edges of a crevice that reaches down God knows how far. We took no soundings, you will remember, until we swung out into this pool. I'll bet my head that that cut through the hill yonder is a mile deep. Earthquake fissures seldom go deeper than that, I've heard. Generally they are mere surface cracks, a hundred feet deep at the outside. But this one,—My God, it gives me the creeps, that crack in the earth does.”

“Umph!” said Mr. Mott, his elbows on the rail beside the young man, his chin in his hands. He was looking down at the water. “Captain Trigger is planning to send a couple of boats outside to survey the coast. I dare say he'll be asking you to go out in one of them. You're a civil engineer and so he feels—”

“Excuse me, Mr. Mott, but what's the sense of sending boats out to explore the coast before we find out how big the island is?”

“What's the sense? Why, how are we to find out how big the island is unless we make the circuit of it? And how in thunder are we to find out that there isn't a village or some sort of trading port on it—What are you pointing up there for?”

Percival's finger was levelled at the top of the higher half of the bisected mountain.

“See that hill, Mr. Mott? Well, unless we're on a darned sight bigger island than I think we are, we can see from one end of it to the other from the top of that hill. It isn't much of a climb. A few huskies with axes to cut a path through the underbrush, and we might get up there in a few hours. I've been figuring it out. That's why I got up so early. Had it on my mind all night. The sensible thing to do is to send a gang of us up there to have a look around. Strange Captain Trigger never thought of it. I suppose it's because he's an old sea-dog and not a landlubber.”

Mr. Mott coughed. “I fancy he would have thought of it in good time.”

“Well, in case he doesn't think of it in time, you might suggest it to him, Mr. Mott.”

The result of this conversation was the formation of a party of explorers to ascend the mountain. They were sent ashore soon after breakfast, well-armed, equipped with axes and other implements, boat-hooks, surveying instruments, and the most powerful glasses on board. Percival was in command. The party was made up of a dozen men, half of them from the gun crew, with an additional complement of laborers from the steerage.

Ruth Clinton, as soon as she learned of the proposed expedition, sought out Percival and insisted upon re-bandaging his hands.

“You must not go into all that tangle of brushwood with your hands unprotected,” she declared, obstinately shaking her head in response to his objections. “Don't be foolish, Mr. Percival. It won't take me five minutes to wrap them up. Sit down,—I insist. You are still one of my patients. Hold out your hand!”

“They are ever so much better,” he protested, but he obeyed her.

“Of course they are,” she agreed, in a matter-of-fact tone. “You did not give me a chance last night to tell you how splendid you were in tackling that crazy mob. I witnessed it all, you know. Madame Obosky and I.”

“Then, you didn't beat it when I told you to, eh?”

“Certainly not. What are you going to do about it?”

“What can I do? I can only say this: I'm glad Captain Trigger's opinion of me is based on my ability to reason with an ignorant mob and not on my power to intimidate a couple of very intelligent young women.”

“I wouldn't have missed it for worlds,” she said coolly. She looked up into his eyes, a slight frown puckering her brow. “Do you know, Madame Obosky had the impertinence to say that you would have turned tail and fled if those people had shown fight.”

He grinned. “She's an amazing person, isn't she? Wonderful faculty for sizing the most of us up.”

“You would have run?”

“Like a rabbit,” he answered, unabashed. “That's a little too tight, I think, Miss Clinton. Would you mind loosening it up a bit?”

“Oh, I'm sorry. Is that better? Now the other one, please.”

“Yes, I'm an awful coward,” he said, after a long silence.

She looked up quickly. Something in his eyes brought a faint flush to her cheek. For a second or two she met his gaze steadily and then her eyes fell, but not before he had caught the shy, wondering expression that suddenly filled them. He experienced an almost uncontrollable desire to lay his clumsy hand upon the soft, smooth brown hair. Through his mind flashed a queer rush of comparison. He recalled the dark, knowing eyes of the Russian dancer, mysterious and seductive,—man-reading eyes from which nothing was concealed,—and contrasted them with the clear, honest, blue-grey orbs that still could fall in sweet confusion. His heart began to pound furiously, he felt a queer tightening of the throat. He was afraid to trust his voice. How white and soft and gentle were her hands,—and how beautiful they were.

Suddenly she stroked the bandaged hand,—as an amiable manicurist might have done—and arose.

“There!” she said, composedly. Her cheek was cool and unflushed, her eyes serene and smiling. “Now you may go, Mr. Percival. Good luck! Bring back good news to us. I dreamed last night that we were marooned, that we would have to stay here for ever.”

“All of us?” he asked, a trifle thickly.

“Certainly,” she replied, after the moment required for comprehension. Her eyes were suddenly cold and uncompromising.

“If I never come back,” he began, somewhat dashed, “I'd like you to remember always, Miss Clinton, that I—well, that I am the most grateful dog alive. You've been corking.”

“But it isn't possible you won't come back,” she cried, and he was happy to see a flicker of alarm in her eyes. “What—what could happen to you? It isn't—”

“Oh, all sorts of things,” he broke in, much in the same spirit as that which dominates the boy who wishes he could die in order to punish his parents for correcting him.

“Are—are you really in earnest?”

“Would you care—very much?”

She hesitated. “Haven't I wished you good luck, Mr. Percival?”

“Would you mind answering my question?”

“Of course I should care,—very much indeed,” she replied calmly. “I am sure that everybody would be terribly grieved if anything were to happen to you out there.”

“Well,—good-bye, Miss Clinton. I guess they're waiting for me.”

“Good-bye! Oh, how I wish I were in your place! Just to put my foot on the blessed, green earth once more. Good-bye! And—and good luck, again.”

“If you will take a pair of glasses and watch the top of that hill,—there is a bare knob up there, you see,—you will know long before we come back whether this island is inhabited or not. I am taking an American flag with me. If we do not see another flag floating anywhere on this island, I intend to plant the Stars and Stripes on that hill,—just for luck!”

She walked a few steps at his side, their bodies aslant against the slope of the deck.

“And if you do not raise the flag, we shall know at once that—that there are other people here?” she said, her voice eager with suppressed excitement. “It will mean that ships—” Her voice failed her.

“It will mean home,—some day,” he returned solemnly.

The one remaining port-side boat was lowered a few minutes later and to the accompaniment of cheers from the throng that lined the rails, the men pulled away, heading for a tiny cove on the far side of the basin. The shore at that point was sloping and practically clear of undergrowth.

It was while Percival was waiting to take his place in the boat that Olga Obosky hurried up to him.

“I have brought my luck piece for you,” she said, and revealed in her open palm a small gold coin, worn smooth with age and handling. “Carry it, my friend. Nothing will happen to you while it is in your possession. It was given me by the son of a Grand Duke. It was his lucky piece. It brought me luck, for he was killed zat very same day, and so I was saved from him. Keep it in your pocket till you come safely back and then—then you shall return it to me, because I would not be without my luck, no.” She slipped her hand deep into his trousers pocket. “There is no hole. That is good. I have place it there. It is safe. Au revoir! You will have good luck, my friend.”

Withdrawing her warm hand from his pocket she turned and walked swiftly away.

The throng on board the Doraine watched the party land; hats and handkerchiefs were waved as the adventurers turned for a last look behind, before they disappeared into the forest.

Hours passed,—long interminable hours for those who were not engaged in the active preparations for the landing of people and stores. Captain Trigger was making ready to transfer the passengers from the ship at the earliest possible moment. He was far from certain that the Doraine would maintain its rather precarious balance on the rocks. With safety not much more than a stone's throw away, he was determined to take no further risk.

At last a shout went up from some one on the forecastle deck. It was taken up by eager voices. Out upon the bald crest of the mountain straggled the first of the explorers to reach the goal. They were plainly visible. One after another the rest of the party appeared. The illusion was startling. It was as if they had actually emerged from the tree-tops. With straining eyes the observers below watched the group of figures outlined against the sky. They spoke in subdued tones. As time went on and the flag was not unfurled, they took hope; eyes brightened, the hushed tones increased to a cheerful, excited clatter, the tenseness that had held them rigid for so long gave way before the growing conviction that another flag already fluttered somewhere beyond the screening hills.

And then, when hope was highest, the Stars and Stripes went up!

Captain Trigger assembled the ship's company on the forward deck later in the day. The landing party returned about three o'clock. Acting on advance instructions, they made their report in private to the Captain, denying all information to the clamorous passengers. A brief conference of officers, to which a number of men from the first cabin were invited, was held immediately after Percival's return. A course of action was discussed and agreed upon, and then all on board were summoned to the open deck to hear the result of the expedition.

Percival reported the following facts and conclusions:

1. The island was approximately fifteen miles long and six or seven miles wide in the centre. The basin in which the Doraine rested was about midway between the extreme points, and about two miles inland from the northern shore. The southern slope of the range descended to a flat plain, or perhaps moor, some two miles across at its broadest point and ran in varying width from one end of the island to the other. It was green and almost entirely devoid of timber. The central eminence from which the observations were taken was the loftiest of a range of ten or twelve diminishing hills that formed what might actually be described as the backbone of the island. The eastern extremity tapered off to a long, level, low-lying promontory that ended in a point so sharp and wedge-like that it bore a singular resemblance to the forward deck and prow of a huge ironclad. The hills, as they approached the plateau, terminated altogether a couple of miles from the tip of land. The western half of the island (strictly speaking, it was a separate bit of land, cut off from its neighbour by the ribbon-like channel), was of a more rugged character, the hills, in fact, extending to the sea, forming, no doubt, steep and precipitous cliffs, rising directly from the water's edge.

(Since his return, Percival had painted on a large piece of canvas a fairly accurate outline map of the bisected island as it had appeared to him from the top of the mountain. This crude map was hung up in full view of the spectators, and served him well in an effort to make clear his deductions. His original sketch is reproduced later on in this chronicle.)

2. There was no visible sign of past or present human habitation. Absolutely nothing appeared to indicate that man had ever attempted to claim or occupy this virgin land.

3. The channel through the mountain was less than one hundred feet wide. The walls of this gorge at one point were fully seven hundred feet high, absolutely perpendicular, and of solid rock. It was as if the hill had been split wide open with one blow of a tremendous broad-ax. Beyond the elevation the channel spread out fan-fashion, creating a funnel-like bay or inlet from the sea.

4. There was no other land in sight. As far as the eye could reach with the aid of lenses there was nothing but water, a mighty waste of water.

5. The wind, which had veered around to the south, was cold and dry.

6. A curving beach of almost snowy whiteness extended for a mile or so along the northern shore, about half way between the entrance to the channel and the eastern point of land. Inside the fringe of trees that lined this beach stretched what appeared to be a long strip of rolling meadow-land, reaching far up the hillsides.

7. Monkeys, parrots and snakes abounded in the forest. An occasional gay-plumaged bird of the toucan variety, but larger than the ordinary South American species, was seen, while large numbers of plump birds of the tinamou family went drumming off through the forest at the approach of the party. Penguins strutted in complete “full dress” among the rocks of the southern shore. A dead armadillo of extraordinary dimensions was found near the foot of the slope. It was at least thrice the size of the common South American mammal. The same could be said of the single iguana encountered. This large lizard, which was alive, must have been fully ten feet from head to tail, and gave rise to the belief that the supposedly extinct iguanodon, described by the scientists as attaining a length of thirty feet, might any day be discovered in the fastnesses of this unexplored land. The mere existence of this rather amiable, unfrightened monster was of the greatest significance. If it were known to man, why had it never been reported in zoological or natural history journals?

8. The trees on the mountain-side were thick and stunted, with interlocking limbs that created a sort of endless canopy which the sun was unable to penetrate. The cool, dry wind that swept the slope would account, however, for the surprising absence of moisture in soil and vegetation in the dense shade of the trees. Oak, elm, spruce, even walnut, and other trees of a sturdy character indigenous to the temperate zone were identified. What appeared to be a clump of cypress trees, fantastic, misshapen objects that seemed to, shrink back in terror from the assaulting breakers, stood out in bold relief upon a rocky point to the south and west of the observation hill. Their gaunt, twisted trunks leaned backward from the sea; their shorn limbs, racked by gales, were raised as if in supplication to the sombre forest behind them. Trunks of enormous trees that had fallen perhaps a century ago were found half-buried in the earth, while scattered along the northern base of the range, overlooking the downs, a few of their gigantic counterparts, alive and flourishing, raised their lofty heads far above the surrounding forest, and stood like sentinels, guarding the plain.

9. A small river wound its devious way, with serpentine crooks and curves, through the downs and across the meadow, emptying into the ocean some distance east of the gleaming beach. That its source was far up in the secretive hills was not a matter of conjecture, however; the incessant hiss and roar of a cataract was plainly heard by the investigators.

Here is the crude, hastily sketched map of the island as made by Percival:

1. Position of stranded vessel in basin.

2. Entrance to channel from the north.

3. Entrance to channel from the south.

4. Narrow strip of woodland from channel almost to river's mouth.

5. Strip of meadow-land clear of trees.

6. River.

7. Stretch of lowland leading down to the water.

8. Crest of hill from which observations were taken with range extending east and west.

9. Point of rocks with cypress trees.

10. Buttress-like west end of island.

11. Dense forest reaching to channel.

12. Rocky cape.

13. Level plateau, without trees.

14. Beach.

15. Penguins.